


Taste Death On Her Lips

by Noscere



Category: XCOM (Video Games) & Related Fandoms
Genre: Crack Relationships, F/F, Porn With Plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-10
Updated: 2017-10-10
Packaged: 2019-01-15 11:19:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12320028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Noscere/pseuds/Noscere
Summary: Dr. Moira Vahlen has never been one to be complacent. The alien invasion offers a number of intriguing possibilities: autopsies, Meld, and the Commander.





	Taste Death On Her Lips

**Author's Note:**

> Used to treat atrial fibrillation, atrial flutter, and heart failure.

“Hello, Commander. My name is Dr. Vahlen. I oversee the Research Labs.”

To her great relief, the Commander is not a man so puffed up with his self-importance that he feels the need to blather about his accomplishments and ask her for praise. Instead, a woman stands before her, a woman who sets out XCOM’s goals and expects Vahlen to provide solutions and suggestions, nothing more. A flare of white scars follows the hard muscle in Commander’s neck, peeping out of the other woman’s dark green sweater.

This meeting finishes in minutes, cut short by the blaring of sirens. The base AI calls the Commander to the Geoscape.

“We will talk soon.” The Commander turns on leather-booted heels and leaves.

Though she returns to her work, Vahlen’s thoughts are cut through with eyes like daggers and the sharp cords of muscle down the Commander’s neck. The Commander has steel in her voice and ice in her hands, self-assured in her every move. She is not like the men and women who sit on grant committees and spend most of their days talking about minutiae that can be turned into profit.

Yes. She can work with a leader like this.

 

* * *

“Ah, Doctor,” the Commander says, setting her fork on the desk before her. The food – a charitable description for the contents of the foiled packet – spits steam into the air. “Any luck with the Sectoid autopsy?” 

Vahlen hides the huff of frustration behind her clipboard. “No. We require intact bodies to progress our understanding, Commander.”

The Commander looks at her computer, then her tray of ambiguous burgundy jambalaya, and then Vahlen. “Where are my manners? I suppose this will take some time.” She gestures at the hard-backed chair before the desk, an oddity in this base where everything is thrown together. “Sit.”

For a while, the two women talk about research and further projects. In the week that XCOM has existed, and the three missions they have undertaken, Vahlen has learned to send updates through Central, which will be compounded into a daily report that the Commander reads. The Commander seems to prefer face-to-face meetings when more in-depth questioning is required. Vahlen keeps her request for more scientists – though she is both an anatomist and geneticist, the team would do better with a more diverse range of specialists. In particular, Vahlen would like a biochemist on board, to sift through the candidate neurotransmitters isolated from the Sectoid.

“I will certainly take that into consideration,” the Commander says, “but the lives of the men come first. I cannot fight a war with corpses alone.”

Vahlen bows her head. Operation Crystal Empire ended with the discovery of a strange substance in canisters, and the alien the men had taken to calling _Thin Men._

“We will do the best with what we have, Commander,” she says, standing to take her leave.

“I can take a hint,” the Commander says, the tips of sharp teeth peeking between her dark lips.

Unbidden, Vahlen thinks of those teeth on her neck.

 

* * *

Hours turn into days, deep under the Manhattan earth. Vahlen lives in the labs, rarely dropping by her bunk for sleep. Sometimes, the Commander comes by, and looks at the growing queue of possible research projects before ushering new scientists into the Labs. Occasionally, Dr. Shen will grumble about favoritism before receiving new engineers (though fewer) into his own team. 

“I know far more scientists,” the Commander says with an apologetic smile. “I will try to wrangle some more engineers to our cause.”

"I may forgive you if some actual tea arrives on my desk," Dr. Shen teases. "Not this Lipton nonsense."

"Bring it up with Central," the Commander suggests, "barring that, we could re-enact the Boston Tea Party."

"And get thrown out for mutiny?" Dr. Shen asks. "I doubt the US would appreciate XCOM forming its own country within their borders. It hardly worked for Texas."

Vahlen raps her loafer against the metal floors of Engineering.

"We'll continue our plans of revolution later," the Commander says, and motions to the doctor. "So, Dr. Vahlen. I have a proposition from France, but I thought I'd run it by you, as it would require some of your scientists…"

 

A slow camaraderie grows between the two women. The Commander is familiar in fields as diverse as neurophysiology and epidemiology, though her depth of knowledge remains shallow. She soaks in the information during Vahlen’s briefings, and the doctor can tell that her superior would ask for more if time weren’t the more pressing issue. Vahlen gradually ventures out of her lab during dinner, to meet and eat with the Commander in her office. 

“The Sectoids seem to lack a digestive system, as we would have,” Vahlen says, grimacing as she twirls the vomit-yellow noodles around her fork. It is faintly reminiscent of the vestigial remains of what _could_ be the Sectoid digestive system. “I do not know if it is their natural state or the byproduct of extreme genetic manipulation.”

“How do you think they eat?” The Commander takes a bite of what could pass for meatloaf, if one was both blind and unable to smell. “The aliens must feed their troops somehow.”

“Intravenous injections, I believe, thus bypassing the Sectoid analogue to a liver,” Vahlen hypothesizes. “There are circular scar marks along the paths of veins that could result from needles. However, as the aliens did not originate on Earth, it is completely possible that they synthesize all needed nutrients from the air they breathe.”

“So poisoning their food supply is unfeasible.” The Commander sets aside the MRE and picks up her cup of tea. “Any thoughts on our progress, Dr. Vahlen? Dr. Shen has raised some ethical concerns about the… newest specimen.”

Vahlen hums. She does not care for small talk, but the way the Commander leans forward speaks of sincerity.

"I've always thought of science as a way to improve our everyday lives, to answer the long-standing questions of scientific history.” Vahlen gestures to the X-Rays of the aliens floating about the Commander’s desktop; a new monster has joined the fray, a twisted melding of flesh and metal the soldiers call a Floater. “The aliens, though...it's obvious now that they consider science simply a means to an end, using and discarding life as needed to reach their goal... whatever that may be."

“A propaganda war with the aliens won’t help.” The Commander smiles half-heartedly. “At least, not in this universe. I doubt we can compete with the sheer devastation they output.”

“No,” Vahlen agrees, “but we may match them in science yet. What we lack for, in the powers of the Sectoid or the agility of the Thin Man, we make up for in adaptability.”

The Commander’s smile suddenly freezes. Vahlen isn’t sure why there is a soreness in her chest at the sight of the obvious discomfort in her superior’s demeanor.

“I suppose that’s true. More tea, doctor?”

“Moira is fine,” Vahlen says.

The Commander raises an eyebrow. Steam hisses from the kettle as she pours hot water into the teapot.

“Or doctor,” Vahlen says quickly. A flush rises to her ears. “I hardly care for titles when there is science to be done.”

“We seem to be on the same page. Well then, Moira.” The Commander’s smile unfreezes, and through the melting ice, Vahlen sees sharp teeth and a mind like steel. “Do you take your tea with sugar or milk?”

 

* * *

The Commander keeps filling up the Labs with scientists, enough that Vahlen can partition them into two teams: one dedicated to flesh, and the other to metal. Vahlen usually works with the autopsy team; she does not know nearly as much about lasers and theoretical physics, which the other team is tackling in their race to find better weapons for XCOM. The aliens spawn more creatures with every battle they throw at Earth, and it seems the aliens' resources are endless. While XCOM is stretched thin, with a dwindling crew of 50 rookies, 5 squaddies, two corporals, two sergeants from Canada and Brazil respectively, and a lieutenant from Japan, the invaders have no problem dumping ten Sectoids minimum on each mission.

“Really, Commander, how do you manage to bring so many on?” Vahlen sips her coffee. “The Council hardly seems organized enough to man XCOM.”

“I have my ways,” the Commander says, staring directly at the camera in the corner of the room.

 

* * *

“-understood, Central. I expect an update when you can,” the Commander says, her voice floating out of the office’s open door.

“Of course, Commander.” Vahlen hears the Central Officer salute, from the whisper of wool against closely cropped hair, then walks out. “Ah, Doctor. The Commander’s free, if you’re looking for her.”

Vahlen nods her thanks. She finds the Commander working at the computer, brow furrowed as if the other woman had happened across a particularly putrid alien corpse.

“Shut the door behind you, please,” the Commander says. “There’s some coffee, if you would like any. I personally don't drink, but Central does.”

“Has another Council country threatened to pull our funding?” Vahlen asks as she goes to the coffeemaker.

“The Americans,” the Commander states. If contempt could kill, the entire XCOM base would have suffocated on the fumes alone. “They have threatened to evict us from this base should we not respond to abductions on their soil. I suspect that if I fail to comply, I’ll find their lackey’s pistol at my head.”

Vahlen sets one mug down on the Commander’s desk, adding to the growing pile of unwashed and chipped cups. “I do not know much about politics, but I doubt the Americans would send an assassin to the XCOM project.”

“I don’t particularly care for Americans,” the Commander states. “They may have given us this base, but they will dangle what you need about your nose and make you sell your firstborn to receive it.”

The doctor nods. Her eyes widen. “You think Central would try to kill you?”

“I am not discounting the possibility.”

“I hardly think Central has the mental capacity to run such conspiracies.”

“He was military intelligence,” the Commander says, hints of sharp teeth back at her lips. “I have learned not to underestimate them, particularly the American’s. You should as well.”

Vahlen restrains a groan. “Commander, I hardly have the time for politics. The labs are quite busy with the _invasion_.”

“What we do here determines the fate of the world and its future. I’ve swept the entire base for bugs, Doctor,” the Commander says with a sweep of her arms. “Three in my shower alone. If I traced them back, I would find their homes in a CIA or FBI office. I do not care for the Americans’ desire to control everything. Sometimes, others know better, and I hope they are listening to me right now, because god knows they don't otherwise.”

Vahlen feels oddly defensive of XCOM’s XO. Though bland, and not the sharpest scalpel in the draw, Central Officer Bradford is a steadfast man who ensures that all her scientists and supplies arrive safely to her lab. He makes sure that everyone is on the same page during briefings, even if he has to ask the science and engineering teams to dumb things down to a fifth grader's comprehension level. Bradford is many unkind epithets - including cagily mother hen – but traitor does not fit that man. 

“He has had a thousand opportunities to betray us. More doubt and infighting will not save us, Commander.”

“I know. I am unused to loyalty from my men.” The Commander sips from her cup, then eyes the drink warily, as if expecting purple poison to well up from the teabag. “Perhaps he will surprise me.”

 

* * *

"Come in," the Commander calls, cutting her discussion with Vahlen short.

Central walks in and plunks three fish-eye cameras on the Commander’s desk. The remains of the cameras, to be precise, as it looks as if someone had bashed them in with the butt of a gun. His normally pristine green sweater is clotted with dust and stinks of sweat.

“I’ve tracked down the party responsible and sent a strongly worded letter,” he says. Though his voice is calm, white rage runs through the lines around his lips and furrowed into his brow. “This will not affect our funding, and I have their word that this will not repeated. I don’t know what they were thinking – they endangered our operational security, Commander.” 

The Commander eyes Dr. Vahlen. “Is this a conversation we should have in private, Central?”

“It’s something all Command staff should know, considering the magnitude of invasion,” Central says. “You can rest assured – there will be no more spies in your bedroom.”

Vahlen shudders at the thought of someone stealing looks at her research. She is on the cusp of groundbreaking work that will help XCOM. If someone else stole it, there is no guarantee they would use the results to aid humanity in their fight.

“Thank you, Central,” the Commander says, though her lips thin. “How did you find them?” 

“I’ve been preparing all living quarters with weapons, God forbid we ever need them. But with the cameras broadcasting to God knows where, we might need them soon. You’ll find a pistol in your dresser’s second drawer, and a Taser under your bed.” He motions to the security camera sitting in the corner of the room. “I have someone reviewing the tapes, sir, and if they find something, I’ll have a report prepared for you.”

“My sincere thanks, Central.” She looks the Central Officer up and down. “…have you been crawling in the ducts?”

“The cameras are _everywhere_ , Commander," Central says with barely restrained rage. “While I work at XCOM, we will handle base security ourselves.”

“Go shower, get a coffee, and get sufficient sleep. I doubt this is the end. Dismissed.”

 Once the door slides behind Central, smudging his dusty footprints all over the metal floor, Vahlen raises an eyebrow at her Commander.

"I told you so," she says.

 

* * *

Grief hangs heavy over the base, as one lone soldier limps off the Skyranger and collapses into the medics’ waiting arms.

XCOM is no stranger to loss. Every mission ends in another coffin, another picture on the Memorial Wall, another name whispered out in prayers and ceremonies.

It's been a while since a mission ended this badly. But the soldiers threw down their lives, and their bodies were carried back with the artifacts they sought to bring home.

As Vahlen watches technicians roll the canisters of that strange orange glowing substance, she wonders if it was worth it. Three men and women will never breathe again. In science, there are acceptable sacrifices: mice sent to sleep with CO2 coursing through their lungs, poisons put into monkey's veins so that their brains may be studied, humans in their last minutes who save their organs for others… But those deaths are relatively painless.

The technicians begin to bring in the corpses of XCOM's soldiers. Vahlen can feel the tightness traveling down her body. She does not like this part of her job; she has seen far too many dead humans in her work as a doctor. The causes of death should be obvious: the neck charred where the skull once attached to the atlas vertebrae, a hole blown clean through the chest, and clotted blood that stains the shroud white because the Sectoid made the soldier shoot his teammate, and he could not live with himself knowing that her blood was on his hands. Though their faces are hidden by shrouds, Vahlen can smell the death and fear emanating from their bodies. XCOM's soldiers did not go quietly, and they did not go peacefully.

The Commander begins to speak over the intercom, mourning for the men lost.

Vahlen tunes her out. It is the living that she must focus on, to prevent more joining the Wall.

 

* * *

Vahlen looks desperately through her medical textbooks. There must be something that can save Rookie Hiroyama, something short of a liver transplant. Hiroyama’s liver is destroyed, charred to black dust in some places, and mere clumps of tissue clinging together in others. An unlucky shot from a Thin Man nailed the poor soldier right in the gut. Had Hiroyama not been holding her gun before her midsection, she would not have survived. As it stands, Hiroyama may not live through the night.

She looks at the nanomachines dancing away under the microscope, and notes how they link up to the foreign tissue.

Meld is a very precious resource. Little is known about its capabilities, other than the fact that it seals the Floaters together. Vahlen has tested the Floaters, run Western blots and countless gels to sort out their component parts: they are made of various species, some XCOM have yet to encounter.

She thinks of the corpses lying in wait in the morgue. Hiroyama and Tretter have similar MHC complexes. Tretter is long dead and headless, killed by a Floater’s lucky shot. Her liver remains intact in the three hours since her death.

 _Above all, do no harm_ , her MD training whispers in her ear. The proposal floating around her head is horribly unethical. Hiroyama is barely conscious enough to respond to her name, much less a request to splice her together with technology Vahlen barely understands.

She stands upon a precipice. Behind her lies all known science. She will push it farther than anyone has ever imagined. In front of her dangles a life, a human being, who may rise from this as a chimeric monster. Worse yet, Vahlen’s experiment may push Hiroyama soundly into the arms of death.

Vahlen reviews the agreement that each soldier signs upon entering XCOM. Her eyes are glued to Section 4.5, declaring that the soldiers sign over the use of their body to any and all experiments XCOM may choose to do.

That is not something an ethical scientific experiment would permit. But the world is ending. Do ethics really matter, when human extinction could be on the horizon?

The liver will not stay good forever. Entropy will sink its fingers into the cells, lyse them, and begin to rot them from the inside.

Vahlen sends off a request to Central.

 

His reply comes back in seconds: _permission granted._

 

* * *

If it's any consolation to Hiroyama, she will be the subject of a good many papers. Hiroyama shows no signs of rejection. Even when the anti-rejection drugs run dry, and Central sends a desperate plea for more pharmaceuticals to the Council, her Frankensteinian liver functions as if it were whole all the time. 

The same cannot be said when the Commander sits at her bedside, and gently tells the Rookie that she is the sole survivor of Operation Cryptic Line.

Vahlen watches from the entrance to the Medbay, as Hiroyama screams and thrashes in her bed. Dr. Mahdavi rushes over, just as the Commander leans in and gathers the younger woman in her arms. Hiroyama decreases her risk of tearing out an IV-line, as her fighting turns into weeping into the Commander’s shoulder. Slowly, the Commander lays Hiroyama back on the bed, where the rookie drifts off into a fitful sleep.

“She’s got quite the touch,” Central says at Vahlen’s shoulder. She jumps. He looks decades older, even though XCOM has only been active for three weeks. “I’ve finished sending the letters to their families. We’re ready to begin sending the bodies back, unless you still need them for an experiment.”

Vahlen watches the Commander quietly discuss something with the Medbay’s head doctor.

“No,” she says finally, “I believe they have done enough. Bring them home.”

 

* * *

They call the miraculous substance Meld.

 

**Author's Note:**

> You thought I had run out of XCOM stories that I will probably not finish? Surprise! This has been stuck in my head when I needed to study, so here it goes, and now I will finally be able to work in peace. 
> 
> I'm honestly surprised there is no F/F Commander/Vahlen fanfic out there, and await the day someone blasts me on r/xcom or tumblr for perverting the fandom even more.


End file.
